News Updates Stove - Washer - Preserves
I’ve not spoken to Miss Sue Montgomery regarding her selection, but I understand she chose a ceramic top model, because there’s no way a snake can slither beneath an eye on the ceramic stovetop, get into an air vent, and make it’s way into the oven. Neither have I spoken to Mr. Raymond Montgomery regarding his claim that he couldn’t afford a new stove, but I stand by my stated contention that if Miss Sue wanted a new stove, Miss Sue would get a new stove. In still an earlier article in RRN, I shared how the weight of a jar of spaghetti sauce enabled the agitator of my washer to function better. At least one reader had difficulty picturing the solution I described as it’s something more readily understood when seen firsthand. While, my offer still stands to show anyone my resourceful solution at the time of the July 23rd fish fry, I can happily report the problem has a more permanent fix. Two weeks ago, Barbara and I dropped off a newsletter at Young’s Appliances on South Main Street. When I told Durwood Young the problem we were having with the agitator, he immediately knew what was wrong. "So, when you press down on the agitator it works okay?" he asked in order to be sure he understood the problem. "And when you put the spaghetti sauce inside the top it also works?" "It works better," I clarified, "but not as well as when I press down on it." "I see," Durwood responded. "What you need is some dogs." "Some what?" "Some dogs. Don’t look at me like that. That’s what they’re called," Durwood shared. It wasn’t until he curled his fingers to illustrate how the "dogs" worked that I understood he was referring to something like replaceable teeth on a cog. Though, I might not have understood as fully had it not been that I recently needed a plastic gear replaced on my line trimmer and remembered that Melvin May said my dogs were gone. Durwood proceeded to tell me how to remove the agitator and install the dogs. Mentally, I followed his instructions fairly well until he tried to explain how to put everything back together. Sensing my lack of comprehension, he stated, "If you’ll bring the agitator down here, I’ll put the dogs in it." After explaining that I didn’t know if I had a 7/16" socket, he told me to borrow one from his handyman, Mr. Alford Johnson. I did, and within five minutes I was back at the house removing the agitator from the washer. Back at the store, I demonstrated to Durwood that I remembered how he told me to separate the upper half of the agitator from the lower half, but I let him replace the dogs while I watched. I was really glad he was on hand to put everything back in place, as the alignment of parts got sort of involved. In another five minutes or so, I was reinstalling the agitator in my washer and shortly thereafter returned the socket to Mr. Alford. I’m not sure I agree with Durwood’s comment, "A monkey can do what we do; all he needs is a little experience," but I’ll grant it a qualified acceptance on face value for the time being. This monkey would need a lot of experience to complete the task Durwood quickly performed. Finally, in Vol. 472 of RRN, I mentioned how much I enjoyed eating Smucker’s cherry preserves on Angel’s bread at the breakfast table of Miss Virginia Dillard. Since the closing of Winn Dixie in Pontotoc, Miss Virginia has been hard pressed to find a regular supply of cherry preserves. But, through the kindnesses of a retailer in nearby Ecru and that of friends, Miss Virginia’s cupboard has maintained a healthy inventory level of her favorite brand of cherry preserves. I’ve even taken to looking for Smucker’s cherry preserves whenever I visit grocery stores out of town but had little success in locating any preserves until one of our retailers purchased a store in Livingston, AL, which was previously owned by Winn Dixie. I was recently at the store to help the new owner load an item file in the register system, and we worked late into the night. Needing to test-scan a few items, I grabbed a couple of items from the preserves section and noted an ample supply of cherry preserves. I also noted that it was an item that SUPERVALU did not carry and mentioned to the retailer that I would purchase all the Smucker’s cherry preserves, which would free up some shelf space for a new item from SUPERVALU. We were both too tired the next day to worry with the transaction, but when I was there the following week, I bought all but two jars at a reduced price. That weekend, I took ten of the jars of preserves to Miss Virginia, who was delighted with my find. Yes, I did keep a few jars for myself, and while I’ve not eaten any of them on Angel’s bread, I can state they are quite good on a buttered biscuit. Barbara Anne is not as foolish about the cherry preserves as Miss Virginia and I are, but that’s okay as my supply will last me roughly twice as long as I had thought. Meanwhile, as more Winn Dixie stores close, perhaps, I’ll find some more bargain prices on cherry preserves. If not, either Miss Virginia can reorder (by the case) from the Ecru retailer or else have someone purchase them for her online at www.smuckers.com.
Sunday Matinee The Light In The Piazza In the weeks since my wife and my sister returned from their recent trip to New York, we have heard from each of them through articles they contributed to this newsletter. This week, Sara Sue shares a memory from a theatrical performance she attended. Two Elderly Ladies at Lincoln Center By Sarah Carter Brown Having spent Sunday morning touring The Cloisters, next on our agenda was the matinee performance of The Light in the Piazza at the Lincoln Center. We had a few minutes to kill prior to the performance, so we stopped at a bookstore for something cool to drink. Mississippi could learn a few things about bookstores from this Barnes and Noble. It was five levels, complete with escalators. Naturally, the café was on the top level. From the bookstore, we crossed the street and went through a plaza, past some sort of tent-shrouded flea market to arrive at the Vivian Beaumont Theater. Upon entering the mezzanine, I quickly assessed that this must be a sold-out performance judging by the crowd. With Uncle Lamar motioning me forward, I encountered the only rude person during our trip. A guy about my age was blocking my way to Lamar. I said, "Excuse me," remembering my good manners. He responded with, "Sure. Just shove your way on through." I detected a hint of sarcasm or else I would have thought he was joking. I suppressed my urge to sneer in my best disdainful voice, "I beg your pardon?" Instead I replied, "Works for me." I managed to maneuver right over to the place Lamar and Barbara were waiting. Who knows? The guy might have been cracking a joke. I certainly was not pushing or shoving. I didn't think too much about it until Barbara mentioned it as we were going to our seats. While we were waiting for the theater to fill, I became amused listening to the conversation of two little old ladies seated behind us. Uncle Lamar leaned over to tell me that a matinee had a different type of audience. He explained that many of these elderly ladies did not go out at night, so they came to matinee performances. My attention was first drawn to the two ladies behind us when the more talkative one was being seated, and she knocked her oversized bag into the back of my head as she took her seat. I did not intend to eavesdrop; however, the two were talking loudly enough for me to hear every word. This is no mean task since I have inherited the Carter deafness. I was able to ascertain that the ladies were with a tour group and were obviously friends. To further appreciate the conversation, think of an upscale Edith Bunker accent with just a touch of class. Asking if she would care to see her new jewelry, the talkative one whipped out a photograph of some pieces of jewelry for which she stated that she had paid entirely too much money. She ruined the effect by saying that she found matching pieces at TJMAX. By intermission, the two ladies had moved on to family genealogy which went something like this, "You see, her mother was married to her father, and that means that her father, then you see dear, was married to her mother." Her friend replied, "Yes, her father was married to her mother, and it follows that her mother was married to her father." At this point Barbara and I exchanged looks that conveyed the ambiguity of the comments as well as the absurdity of the implication that something sinister was afoot. The other said, "You know that in 1982, at Thanksgiving, he had no business saying what he did in front of everyone. You know as well as I do that is no way to start a marriage." If the play had not been about to begin, I would have been sorely tempted to get in on that conversation one way or another. I'm still wondering what in the world he could have said and if the marriage lasted. Years ago, I heard Shirley Booth of Hazel fame tell Johnny Carson that she acquired many accents, voice inflections and character traits by listening to people talking in the seat behind her as she rode the bus to work. Shirley could have had a field day with these ladies. The house lights dimmed, and the performance resumed. Of course, I enjoyed the acting and music. It was, however, the movement of the scenery, which fascinated me. There was no curtain, and we could observe the flawless movement of sets. After all, the production won a TONI for set design. Victoria Clark captured the TONI for best actress, and her performance was indicative of such. Throughout the play, I kept thinking that the plot seemed hauntingly familiar. I never could quite figure out how at times it was as if I knew beforehand what was going to happen next. I kept thinking that maybe I had read the book and forgotten about it. When we returned to Mississippi, Uncle Lamar e-mailed us about an up-coming showing of The Light in the Piazza movie version from 1962 with Yvette Mimieux playing the part of Clara. That explained everything. I must have seen every movie with Yvette Mimieux. I thought she was a fantastic actress during the Sixties and Seventies. Barbara and I went back to our hotel to dress for dinner with Uncle Lamar at an Italian restaurant near his apartment. It seems that some of the waiters had long ago begun referring to him as "Professor," and he never bothered to correct them. I reminded him that he had, indeed, been a professor during the summer that he taught at the Harvard Institute in Nicaragua several years ago. Therefore, no correction was necessary.
You’re Invited 8th Annual RRN Fish Fry If you’ve not made plans to attend this year’s fish fry on Saturday, July 23rd in the backyard of this writer, it’s not our fault for not letting readers know about it sooner. As we recall, the date of this year’s party was established in February and announced in the February 12. issue. Then, a reminder was published on May 14th. In prior years, we’ve heard of readers who planned to attend, but forgot all about it at the last minute. Therefore, to be on the safe side, we are reminding everyone again. Even Sara Sue had trouble remembering the date this year. We made the mistake of letting her know there were two possible dates, before we decided on July 23, and somehow the only one she remembered was the wrong one. Thus, she’ll be working at the hospital on Saturday until 2:00 p.m., instead of helping with last minute details for the party. But, she’ll be here to pass out name badges, though we may have to hose her down from time to time just to keep her awake. Though a limited number of invitations will be mailed, we are asking all who read this newsletter to consider this reminder as his or her invitation to attend what we are calling the 8th Annual RRN Fish Fry. We chose this name to confuse everyone. It’s not the 8th fish fry, but it’s the eighth event that has been open to readers of Ridge Rider News. Furthermore, we will be celebrating the ninth anniversary of this newsletter, which did not become an annual celebration until the second anniversary of RRN, which causes our annual party celebration to differ numerically with the anniversary of our newsletter. If you plan to attend, we ask that you let us know how many will be in your group and that you notify us by July 15th. This is a family party and children are welcome as long as they are accompanied by an adult. For dietary considerations, we will be offering limited quantities of grilled catfish. If you will be bringing a dessert, please let us know in advance, in order for us to "even out" the cake and ice cream desserts. We plan to start serving food promptly at 6:00 p.m., unless hindered by a rain delay. Please remember this is a backyard party and that we will have most tables and chairs underneath canopies for protection from the elements. We have thus far been fortunate to have not been rained upon once we began serving food. Our cooks will have access to a canopy in the event of rain. So, we are prepared to party even if it should be a rainy afternoon. This editor and his family look forward to your joining us for a grand evening of food, fellowship, and entertainment on Saturday, July 23, 2005, rain or shine.
Bodock Beau You're From Mississippi If... Yes, most of the statements found in the following listing could apply to other southern states, but it came to us from Ken Gaillard as follows: You know you're a Mississippian if.....
1. You can properly pronounce Neshoba, Nanih Waiya, Shuqualak, DeKalb, Kosciusko,
Decatur, Yazoo, Pascagoula, Picayune, and Scooba.
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Last week’s lead article in RRN told of a neighbor who
accidentally baked a snake in her stove’s oven. At the time, I was unsure
whether or not the owner would be purchasing a new stove. However, on Saturday,
while visiting with Miss Cubell Young, I learned a new stove had been purchased.
